Chapter 11

Ariana’s POV

"Rie," he said again, like that name still meant something.

Like he had the right to say it.

I yanked the blanket off my head, heart pounding.

No. I wasn’t going to cry under the covers like some shattered little girl. I wasn’t going to let him knock and whisper and pretend last night didn’t fucking happen.

I shoved the blanket aside, got up, and stormed to the door.

His knuckles were still raised when I opened it.

Roman froze.

We just stood there, inches apart, the silence thick and ugly between us. His hoodie hung loose on his frame, hair messy, eyes bloodshot like he hadn’t slept either.

Good.

I wanted him to suffer too.

"What do you want?" I asked, voice sharp, tight, fighting the tremble trying to break through.

He stared at me like I was a ghost.

"I just..." he dragged a hand through his hair, jaw flexing. "I didn’t want you to find out like that."

I laughed.

Cold. Bitter.

"Like what, Roman? Catching you with your tongue down her throat? Or was it the part where she was grinding on you like a fucking stripper?"

His mouth opened.

Nothing came out.

"Say something," I demanded. "Explain it. Make it make sense."

"It wasn’t " He stopped, clenched his fists, then tried again. "It didn’t mean anything. It was a mistake."

"A mistake?" My voice rose, cracking at the edges. "You think that makes it better? You let her you wanted her."

"I didn’t." he growled, then lowered his voice. "It wasn’t like that. I was drunk. She came on to me. I wasn’t thinking."

"And what if I hadn’t walked in?" I shot back. "Would you have fucked her right there? On the couch?"

He looked down.

That was enough of an answer.

I felt my chest cave in.

"I thought..." My voice wavered. "I thought maybe something was happening between us. I thought maybe"

"You’re not wrong," he said suddenly, eyes locking on mine. "You’re not wrong, Ariana."

I blinked.

"What?"

He took a step closer.

"I didn’t sleep with her," he said, voice low and hoarse. "I couldn’t. Not with you in my head."

My breath hitched.

"I don’t care what we are, what we’re supposed to be. I only care about you. And I hate that I fucked up and gave you a reason to walk away from me."

The anger was still there. But it twisted now muddled by the way he looked at me. Like I mattered. Like I was the only thing keeping him upright.

"You hurt me," I whispered.

"I know."

"You made me feel like I was nothing."

"I know."

"And you don’t just get to knock on my door and say sorry and expect it to go away."

"I’m not asking you to forgive me," he said, voice rough. "I’m asking you not to shut me out. Not yet."

We stared at each other. Everything between us unspoken, trembling, dangerous.

Then slowly I stepped aside.

Just a little.

Roman’s eyes flicked to the space I'd made.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t gloat.

He just nodded once... and stepped into my room.

The door clicked shut behind us.

And the tension snapped like a wire pulled too tight.

Roman’s POV

I didn’t plan to knock again.

Hell, I almost walked away and slammed the door on this whole damn thing shoved it deep down like I’ve done for years.

But I couldn’t.

Not when I could still hear her voice cracking behind that door. Not when every inch of me still ached with the sound of her saying, You made me feel like I was nothing.

So I came back.

I knocked.

Twice.

Then waited, heart fucking hammering like I was the one about to be broken.

When she opened the door this time her eyes were different.

Wounded. Still burning.

But there was something else there too.

Need.

I stepped inside without thinking. My pulse roared in my ears. I didn’t even care what I was about to say anymore.

Then she whispered, “I don’t want to talk.”

I swear to God, my heart stopped.

And when I said, “I don’t either,” I meant every word.

Because the second she looked at me like that open, hurting, letting me in I was already gone.

I kissed her like I was drowning and she was the air I hadn’t had in years.

Her mouth was soft, warm, so fucking perfect under mine, but she kissed me back with a hunger that made me lose whatever control I had left. My fingers threaded into her hair, angling her head so I could taste her deeper. I wanted to devour her. Memorize every sound she made, every tiny whimper she tried to swallow.

She dragged me toward the bed, her hands tugging at my hoodie like she needed me closer. I followed blindly let her pull me down with her, let her mouth guide me until I was hovering over her, one knee between her thighs, barely holding back.

She was panting.

So was I.

I kissed her again, rougher this time. Desperate.

I let my hand slip beneath her shirt, skin on skin, and when I touched her stomach, she shivered.

“I need to touch you,” I breathed against her lips. “I can’t... I can’t fucking think when you’re this close.”

“Then don’t think,” she whispered.

Fuck.

That voice soft and wrecked and needing me.

I moved lower, my hand dipping under her waistband, feeling the heat of her through her panties. When I pressed against her, she moaned quiet, sharp, like she couldn’t hold it back.

She was soaked.

I nearly lost it.

“You’re wet for me already?” I muttered against her neck. “You act like you hate me, but this...” I rubbed her slowly, fingers teasing her through the fabric, “...says something else.”

“Roman”

God, the way she said my name. Not angry. Not cold.

Just wrecked.

I pushed her panties aside and slid my fingers between her folds bare, warm, velvet soft and nearly came in my fucking jeans just from the feel of her.

“So perfect,” I whispered.

I slid one finger inside her, slow and deep.

She gasped, eyes fluttering shut.

Her hips moved without her even realizing. Like her body had been waiting for this.

I kissed her throat, tasting the salt of her skin, her pulse thudding fast beneath my mouth. I added another finger, curling just right, and her back arched off the bed. Her hands clawed at my hoodie, pulling me closer, mouth searching blindly for mine.

I gave her everything.

She moaned into my kiss, thighs trembling around my wrist, her body clenching around my fingers as I worked her slowly intentionally making her feel every inch of it.

I whispered filth against her lips.

Told her how wet she was.

How fucking good she felt.

How I’d thought about this for years without even realizing it.

She buried her face in my neck as she came hard, fast, completely falling apart in my arms. Her walls squeezed around my fingers, her whole body shaking beneath me, and I held her through it. Didn’t rush. Didn’t stop.

She deserved to come like that.

Ruined and safe at the same time.

I kissed her hair, her cheek, her lips again softer this time.

Her breathing slowed. Her body melted into mine.

And for the first time since she moved back in I didn’t feel angry, or confused, or lost.

I just felt right.

She was still trembling beneath me.

Her breath hitched in soft, uneven gasps against my throat, her body loose and warm where it melted into the bed. I didn’t move. Couldn’t. My fingers were still inside her, wet and buried to the knuckle, her slick heat pulsing around me like she wasn’t ready to let go.

Neither was I.

I pulled back just enough to look at her. Her curls were a mess across the pillow, cheeks flushed, lips swollen from all the kissing. Her sweater had ridden up her stomach, panties still tugged to the side. Her thighs were still spread, her body completely open to me.

And fuck, I’d never seen anything so goddamn beautiful.

I slid my fingers out slowly, watching the way her body clenched once around nothing before she whimpered. The sound—soft, breathy, wrecked—shot straight through me.

I couldn’t help it.

I leaned down and kissed the inside of her thigh. Once. Then again. Then dragged my mouth up the soft skin until I reached the spot where I’d just touched her. I paused there, breathing her in, letting my lips brush against her.

She gasped, fingers twisting in the sheets.

“Roman…” she whispered.

My name, broken and bare.

I kissed her there, slow and open-mouthed, tongue flicking out to taste what was still dripping from her.

She shuddered—hands flying to my hair, her legs shaking as I licked her softly, deliberately, until she was panting again, thighs twitching like she couldn’t take it.

I didn’t go further.

I just wanted to know how she tasted.

How she responded.

How far I could take her before I gave in completely.

And God, I was close.

I crawled up her body, slow and aching, until we were face to face again. Her eyes were glassy. Dazed. Like she couldn’t believe it was me—Roman—touching her like this.

“I should stop,” I said hoarsely. “You’re not ready.”

She blinked at me. “Then why did you knock?”

I looked at her mouth. “Because I can’t stay away from you anymore.”

My thumb brushed her lower lip. It was still damp from kissing me. I wanted to taste her again. I wanted to pull her on top of me and let her ride me until she was crying my name.

But I didn’t.

I just leaned in and kissed her slow, deep, like I meant it.

Because I did.

Her arms wrapped around my neck, pulling me closer, and for a second, I almost let go. Almost tore the rest of our clothes off and buried myself inside her, consequences be damned.

But instead, I just held her. Kissed her. Let my hand slide up beneath her sweater and rest over her heart.

It was pounding.

So was mine.

“I’ve thought about this,” I murmured, “more times than I want to admit.”

She swallowed. “I never thought you’d touch me like that.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No,” she whispered. “It’s the worst good thing I’ve ever felt.”

That made me smile, just barely. “You’ve always been trouble for me, Ariana.”

“And you’ve always been impossible.”

We laid there like that for a while twisted up, skin against skin, breathing each other in like oxygen.

I could’ve taken her.

She would’ve let me.

But this moment wasn’t about control.

It was about want.

And for once, I wanted her more than I wanted to win.